


The End is Near

by DeansDirtyLittleSecret



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 10:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15071351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeansDirtyLittleSecret/pseuds/DeansDirtyLittleSecret
Summary: You fall asleep in Dean’s arms in 2009 and wake up five years in the future.





	The End is Near

 

This wasn’t real. None of this could be real. This was a nightmare. 

You’d gone to sleep in Dean’s arms, your head on his chest, trying, and most likely failing, to comfort him after his conversation with Sam. He’d clung to you as if you were the only thing on Earth that mattered to him, and maybe, just maybe, you were.

You’d woken up to...this...

_ This _  was a trashed motel room: a broken alarm clock, a smashed lamp, nothing more than the springs left on what had once been a mattress, cupboard doors hanging askew, trash littering the floor, wallpaper peeling, the window broken in several places. The door was busted out of its frame, hanging by one hinge, the breeze from the broken windows making it sway and creak.

“Dean!” you called. Nothing but silence answered you.

Your gun was gone, the duffel bag, your backpack, everything. The jacket you’d casually tossed over the back of the chair was no longer there, your cell phone wasn’t on the side table. You gingerly made your way through the trash covering the floor to peer out the window.

“What the hell?” you muttered.

Abandoned vehicles dotted the streets, some overturned and burned out, others parked on sidewalks, covered in fine layers of dirt. Giant piles of trash were everywhere. The streetlamps were broken, glass dotting the sidewalks; storefronts were boarded up, planters knocked over. It looked like the town had been abandoned.

Another cursory look around the room told you there was nothing to salvage and Dean was definitely not there, so you made your way down the stairs and out the front door. You stayed close to the buildings, no real destination in mind, just a desperate need to move, to do  _ something _  other than stand there, frozen in terror. 

Your heart was pounding, your fingers itching with the need to have some kind of weapon at the ready, sweat running in rivulets down your back, despite the chill in the air. You were barely holding off the panic, barely keeping it at bay.

You needed to find Dean. 

You resisted the urge to call his name, unsure of what might emerge if you made any kind of noise. Wherever the hell you were, it wasn’t a good place, and you needed to be careful. You hadn’t seen one person since you’d come awake, hadn’t heard one voice.

Just then, you saw a flash of pink out of the corner of your eye. You spun on your heel, hurrying after it, ducking into an alley. Thirty feet in, there was an overflowing dumpster, and thirty feet beyond that, there was a chain link fence, a huge sign on it that read “Quarantine Zone, No Admittance.” The flash of pink disappeared on the other side of the fence. Someone was there.

You crept closer, acutely aware, again, that you didn’t have a weapon, not even your pocket knife. The scream erupted just as you stepped past the far end of the dumpster, a small body slamming into you, the momentum sending you flying. Your head hit the brick wall, a burst of pain swallowing you whole, tears blurring your vision. You caught a glimpse of an armed man in an olive colored jacket leaning over you just before you passed out.

* * *

“Still in the nightmare,” you mumbled to yourself as soon as your eyes opened.

You were getting tired of waking up in odd places, unsure of where you were. You were lying on a small bed, a blanket thrown over your legs. You kicked it off and pushed yourself up on your elbows, peering around at your unfamiliar surroundings.

You could hear voices, not that you could make out what they were saying, though you could tell that they were coming this way. You shoved yourself to your feet, desperately looking around for something, anything, you could use as a weapon. You weren’t going to be caught off guard again. 

Several things in the room could be considered a weapon; the chairs at the table could be used to hit someone, except they would probably shatter on contact, doing little to no damage, or maybe one of the bottles on the table, not that broken glass would do much good against a gun. There was a stove on the other side of the room and sitting on top of it was one of those heavy, copper frying pans.

_ Anything in a pinch, sweetheart. _

Of course Dean was in your head, he was always in your head, why would now be any different? He wasn’t wrong though, anything in a pinch.

You sprinted across the room and grabbed the frying pan, then you stepped behind the door, holding it like a baseball bat. Ten seconds later, the door opened and you swung, connecting with the back of someone’s head. He dropped like a stone.

“Whoa, shit,” a deep voice shouted. The door slammed closed and calloused fingers closed around your wrist, wrenching the makeshift weapon free.

You shoved yourself away from the guy with the deep voice, stumbling backwards, and landing on your ass, face to face with the man you’d just knocked out.

“Castiel?” you murmured. It sure the hell didn’t look like the Castiel you’d known; this guy had three days worth of growth on his face and he was dressed like a hippie, but other than that, it could definitely be the angel.

“You knocked him out cold, Y/N.” A familiar chuckle drifted through the room, a chuckle that had you looking up and into a set of piercing green eyes. He held his hand out to you, the hand not holding the kitchenware you’d beaned Castiel with, that adorable smirk you loved to hate on his face, the face of the man you loved. A face that looked subtly different, older, more worn, and sadly, more bitter.

“Dean?” you gasped.

“Hi, Y/N,” Dean sighed, crouching down in front of you. He spun the pan by the handle. “Frying pans...who knew, right?”

* * *

“Alright, talk,” you prompted. “Tell me everything.”

It had taken hours, but you and Dean were finally alone. After the two of you had helped Cas to his cabin and you’d apologized profusely, Dean had taken you on a tour of the camp, introducing you to people you didn’t know and re-introducing you to people you’d met before you’d been dumped five years into the future. You’d received your fair share of dirty looks from a lot of the women in the camp, and you suspected you knew why - jealousy. Not only was Dean, well, Dean, but he was their leader, the man in charge. It was obvious they didn’t appreciate the presence of another woman in the camp. Good to know some things never changed. 

Of course, you’d yet to address the elephant in the room. While it had been less than twenty-four hours since you’d been asleep in Dean’s arms, for him it had been five years. You couldn’t imagine that he still had feelings for you.

“Are you sure you want to know everything?” Dean asked, drawing you out of your musings. He was leaning against the counter, one foot crossed over the other, a can of beer in his hand.

“Start with how I got here,” you said.

“I don’t know that part,” Dean shrugged. “All I know is I woke up in the morning and you were gone. All of your stuff was still there, but you were just...not. I spent weeks trying to find you, Cas too, and eventually, Sam. But, nothing. Then you showed up here, looking just like you did the day you disappeared.”

“When is  _ here _ ?” you inquired.

“It’s 2014,” he replied.

“Five years? It’s been five years?” You scrubbed a hand over your face. “How the hell did I get five years into the future?”

“Angels? Lucifer, maybe? Who fucking knows?” Dean grumbled. “Cas always suspected Zachariah had something to do with it, that he thought you were a distraction, so he eliminated you. At least now I know you aren’t dead.”

“Where’s Sam?” You glanced around the room as if just saying his name would make him magically appear.

“Sam didn’t make it,” Dean shrugged, turning away from you and staring out the window over the sink, rubbing the back of his neck.

“That’s it? Sam didn’t make it?” You rose to your feet and crossed the room to stand in front of Dean. You knew him too well; something wasn’t right. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Drop it, Y/N.”

“I’m not gonna drop it,” you said. “Remember how we said we’d always be honest with each other? No matter how much the truth hurts? That still applies, as far as I’m concerned. So, talk.”

“Y/N,” Dean shook his head.

“Talk, Dean!” you snapped.

“You know, Y/N, if honesty’s the best policy, and the truth hurts, then you’d better call an ambulance, cause you’re not gonna like the stuff I’m gonna fucking say.” He stared down at you, as if he really thought you would back down. He’d obviously forgotten a few things about you over the last five years. You stared back, refusing to give an inch.

“Sam said yes,” he sighed. “Big showdown in Detroit, Sam went in, thought he could control him, thought he could bring him down from the inside. My brother went in and Lucifer came out.”

“Oh God, Dean, I’m so sorry,” you murmured, your hand on his arm.

“I’ve done my grieving, Y/N,” he said through clenched teeth. “It’s over. Now, I’m just trying to stay ahead of the devil and keep my people safe. Sam made his choice, I’ve made mine.”

Typical. Push through the pain and do what you’ve got to do, whether you like it or not. You figured you might as well ask the question you weren’t sure you wanted an answer to.

“What about me?” you whispered.

“What about you?” Dean asked, his voice low and thick with something you couldn’t quite identify. He took a step closer to you, right up in your personal space. You didn’t back away.

“I loved you, Dean -”

“I know,” he smirked.

“I still love you,” you continued. “What about us?”

“Us?” He tipped his head to one side, his tongue darting out to lick at his lips.

“You and me, you jerk,” you shook your head.

“I lost you, Y/N,” he said, leaning over you, so close you could feel his breath blowing against your cheek. “I didn’t stop caring about you.”

You pushed up on your toes, your lips crashing into Dean’s, your arms around his neck. It was as good as it had always been, kissing Dean, but it was an older, harder, edgier Dean, more jaded than your Dean had ever been. His hands were on your waist, pulling you closer, your body flush against his, the tips of his fingers digging into your hips, bruisingly tight. 

“Fuck, I missed you, baby,” he growled.

“I’m right here,” you whispered.

Dean pushed you backwards until you hit the wall, his hands gliding over you, removing the clothes from your body, letting them fall to the floor. His hands were everywhere, caressing your breasts, your stomach, and between your legs, until you were writhing under his touch.

You sighed, your head thrown back, eyes closed, your body compliant as always under Dean’s touch. He dropped his head and kissed your neck, sucking a dark mark into the skin beneath your jaw. You ran your hands down his back and over his ass, finally sliding them along the edge of his waistband to the button on his jeans, popping it open and hooking your fingers in the front of his briefs, yanking them down. You slowly stroked him, your thumb sliding over the tip of his cock, smearing the pre-come down the shaft.

Dean released you, but only long enough to rip the clothes from his body, then he was picking you up and lowering you onto the tiny bed, your fingers tangling in his short hair as his lips moved down your neck and over your breasts. He kissed a trail of sloppy kisses down your stomach, occasionally nipping you with his teeth, his tongue dipping briefly into your belly button. By the time he reached your warm, wet center, you were panting with anticipation. His tongue snaked out of his mouth and slowly licked you.

“Mmm, Dean...please…” you moaned, your fists clenched in the threadbare sheets on the bed as you pushed yourself towards Dean’s eager mouth.

Dean grabbed your hips and pulled you closer, growling as he nuzzled you. He buried his face in your pussy as he slid his tongue inside of you. Your hands gripped the side of his head, pulling him tight against you. He growled again, slipping two fingers in alongside his tongue. Your back arched and if he hadn’t had a death grip on your hips, you would have gone right over the side of the bed. Dean was relentless, licking and sucking, his face pressed against you, his fingers and tongue thrusting repeatedly inside of you, sending you quickly over the edge.

“Oh god, yes,” you screamed, your entire body trembling, your hands fisted in his hair, tugging it, pulling him against you as a second orgasm hit you before you had even come down from the first one.

Dean held you, working you through the orgasms, his mouth never straying from your core until you collapsed, spent, back onto the bed. Only then did he move back up your body, covering you in kisses, his lips drifting along the line of your throat, one hand kneading your breast, while the other was around your waist, holding you close.

You moaned and pressed yourself against him, your hands sliding over his bare skin. The heavy weight of his cock fell into your hands, a deep growl emanating from him as you stroked him, your fingers tracing the vein on the underside.

Impatient, Dean pushed your legs open and settled himself between your hips, easing into you with a loud groan. “Oh, shit, baby,” he whispered as he began to move, slowly, carefully.

You moved with him, your hips gliding up to meet his, your hands on his ass, nails digging in, pulling him tight against you. Dean braced a hand by your head, easing out of you, only to slam forward, burying himself deep inside of you with a loud groan. You gasped, a shudder running through you at the feel of this man who was, yet wasn’t,  _ your _  Dean filling you, taking you, consuming you.

Dean thrust harder, one hand sliding under you to keep your connection intact, with the other he cupped the back of your head, catching your lips in his, kissing you with a desperate hunger. He was fucking you into the mattress, the flimsy headboard slamming against the wall, every inch of you responding to him, your body on fire, so close to that blissful oblivion only Dean could give you. Electric sparks popped all over your skin as the orgasm exploded through you, your walls clenching around Dean, his wanton growls mixing with your erotic cries as you climaxed together.

Dean fell to the bed beside you with a contented sigh, his face nestled in your hair, his fingers tracing circles on your skin. You turned to face, your hands on him, running over familiar scars, and new scars, a million questions on your lips. You brushed a kiss across a scar on his chest, one you’d never seen before.

“Dean?” you murmured.

“I know, Y/N,” he sighed. “I’ll answer all of your questions, eventually. But, not right now. I’ve been away from you for five years, can you just give me, I don’t know, a little time? Let me enjoy the moment.” He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

You nodded, snuggling closer to him, your cheek resting on his chest. You could wait for answers. You closed your eyes and listened to his heartbeat and his breathing slow as he fell asleep. You closed your eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. You were too afraid of waking up and he would be gone. And despite all of your questions, all of your confusion, there was one thing you did know.

This Dean, future Dean, he needed you. Even more than you needed him.


End file.
